


Where It's Warm

by GreyMichaela



Series: A Useless Thing [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Baze and Chirrut need to adopt him, Bodhi still needs a hug, F/M, M/M, in which plot happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9114826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: Followup to A Useless Thing, the crew runs afoul of stormtroopers and bureaucrats.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly blown away with the reception A Useless Thing has gotten. Y'all have left the most beautiful comments on that fic (did you know I was debating posting it in the first place?) and it inspired me to continue the plot.
> 
> So here is part two, in which our beloved space children must escape Imperial troops and Bodhi challenges some previously held beliefs.

Sure enough, Chirrut had spiced caf brewing when Bodhi and Baze arrived. He turned from the tiny stove with a mug in his hands and held it out to Bodhi, who accepted awkwardly and sat down at the table, cradling the warm ceramic in his hands.

“Where’s mine?” Baze asked.

Chirrut huffed. “Get it yourself—you always complain I add too much sweetener.” He sat opposite Bodhi as Baze snorted a laugh and took a mug down.

Bodhi took a sip of the caf and blinked. “Oh.”

“Told you,” Baze rumbled.

Chirrut smiled, clearly pleased.

Baze settled beside him and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Bodhi sipped his caf, letting the warmth of the drink blaze a trail through his chest, and felt peace stealing over him on kitten-soft paws.

Cassian appeared in the doorway, his brown eyes tired. He didn’t ask how Bodhi was, although his gaze was piercing as it swept across him. Instead he asked, “Is there enough caf for me?”

“I made enough for everyone,” Chirrut said, not seeming at all surprised to hear his voice. “Join us.”

Bodhi scooted down to give Cassian room to sit as Jyn came through the door. She poured herself a cup and sat on Cassian’s other side.

“So where are we going now?” she asked.

“Byblos,” Cassian said. “It’s on the Corellian Run, the closest to where we were, which makes it the smart choice, but we’ll have to be careful. Byblos has a very strong Imperial presence.”

Bodhi stiffened, gripping his mug tighter, as Jyn muttered something under her breath.

“It’ll be fine,” Cassian said to both of them. “This is an Imperial freighter, remember? Our contact is waiting for us there. When we land, Jyn, Kaytoo, and I will meet them. Bodhi, you’ll stay on the ship with Baze and Chirrut. Keep it hot for us just in case we have to make a quick getaway.”

Bodhi nodded dubiously. Chirrut looked thoughtful, lips pursed, but he said nothing. Baze just grunted and took another sip of caf.

“How long until we get there?” Jyn asked.

“About half an hour,” Cassian said. He drained his caf and stood to set the mug in the sink. “Be ready when we land, Jyn, this is in and out, fast as possible.”

Jyn nodded. Bodhi clutched his mug tighter and Chirrut turned his head toward him but said nothing.

It was quiet after Jyn and Cassian left, Bodhi staring into his caf and Chirrut leaning ever-so-slightly against Baze’s shoulder.

“I’ll make dumplings _after_ Byblos, I guess,” Baze muttered.

Bodhi was still unsettled, off-balance from the nightmares. He felt flensed, stripped to his core and laid bare. He swallowed the last drop of caf and rinsed the mug out.

Baze and Chirrut had their heads together when he turned around, and Baze was smiling, tenderness in his eyes as Chirrut murmured something too low for Bodhi to hear. He glanced up, catching and snagging on Bodhi’s gaze, and Bodhi cleared his throat.

“I’m—I think I’ll go wait in the hold for us to land.”

He slid down the ladder and landed on the deck, his boots ringing sharply against the metal. Cassian was talking to Jyn as they checked their weapons, and Bodhi slipped by them to sit in the pilot’s seat beside Kaytoo.

Kaytoo acknowledged him with a silent nod, and Bodhi peered out the windows.

“Breaking atmosphere in five seconds,” Kaytoo said.

They emerged in the sky above Byblos City, the ship’s fall slowing into a controlled descent under Kaytoo’s touch, and plunged through a heavy curtain of storm clouds concentrated above the city.

Kaytoo sent their stolen credentials to the port authorities and Bodhi held his breath until they were cleared, sagging slightly in relief when the crisp voice directed them to land in bay three and await further instructions.

Bodhi glanced into the hold, where Cassian was tucking the box from Thalei into his shirt. Baze and Chirrut had joined them, Chirrut sitting on the weapons case again, Baze hovering above him.

Jyn compulsively checked her blaster again until Cassian touched her wrist. Sighing, she holstered it and shook her hair off her face.

Kaytoo brought the ship to rest, setting it down neatly in the assigned bay, and he and Bodhi joined the others in the hold.

Cassian looked them over and a smile almost touched his tired eyes. “We won’t be long. Stay here and don’t talk to anyone.”

“Cassian,” Chirrut said.

Cassian made an inquisitive noise.

“Something feels wrong,” Chirrut said. His brow was furrowed, and Baze shifted his weight, beside him.

“Wrong how?” Cassian asked.

Chirrut lifted a shoulder. “I cannot see it more clearly than that. But… be careful.”

Cassian nodded, mouth tight, and turned away. Kaytoo and Jyn followed him off the ship and the door slammed shut behind them.

 

The first hour passed slowly. Bodhi sat in the pilot’s chair, drumming the console with absent fingers, doing his best to keep the intrusive whispers at bay.

But they still floated in. _You’re a liability. Why are you still with them? They don’t care about you. You were useful but now you’re not, not anymore._

Bodhi squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the arms of the chair, but finally he couldn’t bear it anymore and shot to his feet.

Baze glanced up and Chirrut shifted his weight as Bodhi stalked into the hold.

“I’m gonna, uh—” Bodhi gestured vaguely. “Check the ship. For—damage.”

Chirrut’s eyebrows climbed but neither he nor Baze said anything as Bodhi grabbed a tool belt and stepped through the small hatch and into the bay.

It was cold and unwelcoming, poorly lit with torches that barely pierced the gloom in the corners of the huge hangar. The gray permacrete leached the warmth from Bodhi’s feet as he looked around.

There were two other ships sharing this hangar with them, each in their own marked bay, but no one else was about. _Probably because they’re smart enough to stay inside where it’s warm_ , Bodhi thought. He shivered and began to work his way around the ship, checking the underbelly for pitting, breaches, and scarring.

He was about half done when a noise at the far end of the cavernous room made him look up. A pair of Neimoidians were arguing by the big double doors, waving their arms for emphasis, and one pointed in Bodhi’s direction.

Bodhi caught his breath and ducked behind a crate. After a second, he emerged, feeling idiotic. Neimoidians were bureaucratic, particular to a fault, and fussbudgets to boot, but they were hardly dangerous.

He stiffened as the doors opened and a squad of ten stormtroopers trotted through in formation, weapons at the ready, and the same Neimoidian pointed at Bodhi and the ship again.

Bodhi ran for the hatch.

Baze and Chirrut were already on their feet when he fell through the door and slammed it behind him, Baze in the middle of slinging his huge gun in position and Chirrut with staff in hand.

“Stormtroopers,” Bodhi panted. “At least ten of them. Heading this way.”

“Grab a blaster, stay behind us, and try to only shoot them,” Baze snapped.

Chirrut flattened himself against the wall by the door, his hands loose on the staff as he waited for Baze’s signal.

Bodhi fumbled a blaster off the wall and checked it with shaking hands. He wasn’t a fighter, had never been a fighter, he was a terrible shot and worse at hand-to-hand, he was a _pilot_ , what was he even doing—

Baze touched Chirrut’s arm and Chirrut tilted his head, listening intently, and then nodded.

A heavy fist pounded on the door. “Open up!” someone shouted. “We have reason to believe this is a stolen vessel, open up for inspection immediately or face the full wrath of the Empire!”

Chirrut, impossibly, laughed. Bodhi stared at him and Baze rolled his eyes as the fist hit the hatch again.

“Open this door immediately!”

Chirrut beckoned to Bodhi, who crossed the bay on silent feet to press his shoulders to the wall beside him.

“Stay close,” Chirrut said quietly. “We can’t afford to get separated.”

“I d-don’t—I’m not—” Bodhi wasn’t afraid of fighting, but he could feel the fear of failing his companions squeezing his throat closed, making it hard to breathe. If they were hurt, or worse, because of him—

“Trust the Force,” Chirrut said. “It will protect us.”

Baze snorted rudely, checking his gun again as the fist hit the door a third time. “Bodhi, watch me for your cue,” he said in a low voice.

“Last chance!” the trooper bellowed.

“Okay!” Baze shouted back. “We’re coming out, don’t shoot!” He stepped to the side, so that he was out of sight of the door as Chirrut opened it.

The troopers moved back so Chirrut could step out.

“What’s the problem?” Chirrut inquired, using his staff as a walking stick to guide his feet as he stepped, slow and careful, through the hatch and into the hangar.

“We received a report of a stolen vessel, and your ship matches the description,” the officer said. His voice was muffled through his helmet, terse and irritated. “Produce your papers immediately.”

“Of course,” Chirrut said. Bodhi held his breath, flat against the wall as he kept his eyes on Baze, who appeared supremely unconcerned, gun at the ready.

“Well?” the officer demanded. “Where are the papers?”

“In the hold,” Chirrut said. “Go on in.”

Baze grinned, bright and wolfish, as footsteps sounded and a stormtrooper put his head through the hatch.

The trooper saw Bodhi first, back to the wall and clutching his blaster. “Hey—” the officer started, and Baze shot him.

The body fell forward as shouts erupted outside. Baze bounded over the smoking corpse and planted his feet in the doorway. The crack of wood against bone and blaster fire echoed through Bodhi’s skull.

Baze fired with cool precision. Sight, fire, the thud of body on permacrete. Within a few seconds, it was over. Baze glanced at Bodhi, still frozen in place, and jerked his head.

“Come on.”

Bodhi followed him out of the hatch just as Chirrut brought his staff down on a stormtrooper’s head with a thump and the trooper dropped like a broken marionette.

“I told you the Force would protect us,” Chirrut said to Bodhi. The permacrete was littered with white-armored bodies, limp and still around him.

Baze growled under his breath but clearly decided not to pursue it. “We need to get out of here before reinforcements come.”

“We can’t take the ship!” Bodhi protested. “What about the others?”

“We’ll land outside the city and radio our coordinates to Kaytoo,” Chirrut said. He nudged a body with his toe. “Baze is right. We need to go.”

Bodhi set the blaster down and bent to grab the body blocking the door. He dragged it backward until the hatch was clear and straightened.

Baze and Chirrut were talking, their heads close together, a few feet away, by the ship’s entrance. Bodhi watched with dawning horror as if in slow motion, as one of the stormtroopers dragged his arm out from under his body. He clutched a grenade in one blood-smeared fist, and he threw it in a slow, looping arc toward the ship.

Bodhi opened his mouth. Shouted. Dove for his blaster as the world erupted in fire around him.

 

He came back to awareness in an abrupt snap and sat up with a gasp. His ribs had been replaced by red-hot pokers. He doubled over, clutching at them and struggling to breathe. He’d been flung backward by the shockwave and landed among the crates, out of sight.

“ _Baze_.” It took Bodhi a minute to recognize Chirrut’s voice, twisted by grief and terror. “Baze, please, _wake up_.”

Dread filled Bodhi’s lungs and he grabbed the edge of a crate and hauled himself to his feet to take in the scene in front of him.

The ship was a mangled, smoking mess of jagged metal. Chirrut was on his knees several yards away, and Baze—Bodhi caught his breath. Baze was on his stomach, blood streaking his face, eyes closed as Chirrut checked him frantically.

Bodhi staggered forward, arms around his ribs. “We gotta go,” he panted.

“Help me get him up,” Chirrut snapped, rolling to his feet.

Together, they managed to get Baze to a sitting position, his head lolling forward, body limp. Was he even alive? Something in Chirrut’s face told Bodhi not to ask.

Chirrut unbuckled Baze’s gun and dropped it on the ground, then stooped and hooked Baze’s limp arm around his neck as Bodhi heaved him up and over Chirrut’s shoulders.

“Grab my staff,” Chirrut directed as he straightened. “I need you to stay close so I can tell where I’m going.”

Bodhi obeyed, scooping up the staff as Chirrut turned. Baze had to weigh over two hundred pounds, not including his guns and gear, but Chirrut moved easily, feet sure and unhesitating as he stepped over the bodies and strode across the hangar.

Bodhi scrambled to catch up, ignoring the fiery stabs of his ribs, and caught Chirrut’s sleeve to correct his course.

“Ground is smooth here,” he panted. “We should run.”

Chirrut nodded and broke into a lope, Bodhi managing to stay one pace ahead as he steered them toward the door on the far side of the cavernous room.

“Wait,” he gasped when they got there. “Let me make sure it’s clear.”

Chirrut was silent as Bodhi clutched the staff and eased the door open. It was night, rain coming down in heavy sheets, wind buffeting him as he put his head out slowly.

Visibility was almost zero, but there were no cries of alarm, no sirens wailing or lights flashing. Bodhi touched Chirrut’s sleeve.

“It’s clear. Stay close.”

They stepped out into the freezing rain and ghosted down the sidewalk. The icy needles pierced Bodhi’s jumpsuit almost immediately, plastering it against his body and making him shudder.

At the end of the hangar, Bodhi signaled Chirrut to stop with a hand on his arm and assessed the situation. There were still no alarms, no raised voices or pounding feet.

“We need to find somewhere to hide,” Chirrut said. His face was calm, but Bodhi could sense the worry pulsing off him in waves. “I need to attend to his wounds before he freezes to death.”

Bodhi swallowed. “Let’s go. Step down right in front of you.”

He kept a hand on Chirrut’s sleeve as they stepped out into the street and crossed to the other side, Bodhi giving a running commentary of what was under Chirrut’s feet as they moved as swiftly as possible.

Through alleys, down back passages, keeping to the shadows and out of the feeble glow cast by the streetlamps that lined the roads, Bodhi lost track of everything except his one focused mission—get as far away as possible.

When Chirrut stopped, raising his head suddenly, Bodhi stumbled and nearly fell.

“What—”

“I smell dumplings,” Chirrut said quietly.

Bodhi looked around, shoving his wet hair out of his eyes and peering through the gloom. He’d stopped shivering, which was a bad sign, he knew, but he was too tired to care.

“We’re—there’s a sign up ahead for a restaurant, I think,” he managed. “And… that might be an inn, beside it.”

Chirrut nodded. “Go inside. Get us a room. I’ll wait out here and we’ll come up the back stairs once you have the key.”

“I don’t—” Bodhi snapped his mouth shut.

“In my pocket,” Chirrut said, angling his hip toward him.

Bodhi fumbled in the pocket Chirrut presented, fingers closing around what felt like a small leather wallet. He drew it out and Chirrut nodded.

“ _Go_ ,” he said.

“I’ll be right back,” Bodhi said, and dashed for the inn.

The girl behind the desk didn’t look very interested as he stumbled through the door, focused on the holograph of a soap opera playing out in front of her.

“Need a room,” Bodhi said.

She made a noise that might have meant anything. “Three hundred credits.”

Bodhi managed to get the wallet open, fingers stiff and clumsy, and pulled out the right amount, dropping it on the desk in front of her.

The girl slid a key over to him, eyes still fixed on the holograph, and Bodhi snatched it.

“Down the hall, then up the stairs to your right,” the girl said absently.

Bodhi staggered down the hall on legs that felt like overcooked noodles. In the warmth of the small inn, the shivering had returned in force, and he fumbled the back exit handle several times before he finally managed to get it open.

Chirrut nearly fell through it, Baze still limp over his shoulders. Blood dripped from Baze’s hand in a slow, steady ooze to puddle on the wooden floor.

“Don’t have much left,” Chirrut said through his teeth.

“Up the stairs,” Bodhi said, and turned him in the right direction.

Halfway up, Chirrut’s legs buckled and he went down, nearly taking Bodhi with him. He sprawled forward on the steps and Bodhi crouched over him.

“Let me help you carry him,” he said.

Chirrut’s mouth firmed and he nodded sharply. “Put his arm over your shoulder.”

Bodhi obeyed and together, they managed to haul Baze mostly upright, his head still hanging. It wasn’t good that he’d been unconscious for so long, Bodhi knew. He also knew there was nothing to be done until they got him in the room and could assess his injuries properly.

They made it up the rest of the stairs and down the hall to their room with swearing from Chirrut and stifled moans from Bodhi, whose ribs were protesting being used so much.

Bodhi unlocked the door and together, they eased Baze through and into the tiny room.

“Bed,” Chirrut gritted out. “Where is it?”

Bodhi steered them that way and they lowered Baze onto the mattress. Chirrut straightened with a muffled noise and took his outer robes off. Underneath, he wore a simple linen shirt, which he pulled over his head with jerky movements.

“Bodhi,” he said as he crawled onto the bed and knelt beside Baze’s motionless body. “Take the shirt, tear it into strips. I’ll need it for bandages. Then get me water from the bathroom.”

Bodhi obeyed as Chirrut unfastened Baze’s chestplate and eased it up over his head. He dropped it on the floor and made short work of Baze’s jumpsuit, fingers quick and unerring on the zippers.

Bodhi watched furtively, tearing the shirt into long strips as Chirrut rolled Baze onto his stomach and examined him for injuries, head tilted and his lips moving in what seemed like prayer.

“Shrapnel embedded in his right shoulder,” Chirrut said. “I’ll have to remove it.” His hands were deft and gentle, and he used every part of them to map out the injuries on Baze’s back, from fingertips to palms as he worked his way down from Baze’s shoulders to his hips.

Bodhi finished shredding the shirt and set the pile of rags next to Chirrut’s knee.

“Tell me what you see,” Chirrut said.

Bodhi bent, still shivering, and examined Baze’s tawny skin, paler where it was usually covered by his jumpsuit, marked with the occasional mole and smears of blood.

“I—other than his shoulder, it looks like his armor took the worst of it,” he managed. He was so _cold_ , his teeth were chattering—he tucked his hands into his armpits. “There’s blood on his head, is there an injury there?”

Chirrut nodded as Bodhi glanced up. There were tears in Chirrut’s eyes, he realized with a jolt.

“That’s what knocked him out.”

Bodhi rubbed his arms, trying to slow the shivers, and Chirrut pointed to the bed on Baze’s other side.

“Take your wet clothes off and get under the covers. I need your body heat to help warm him up.”

Bodhi was too exhausted and freezing to argue. He shucked the jumpsuit, leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor, and crawled under the blankets. Baze was heavy and warm beside him, his face blank with unconsciousness, and Bodhi watched as Chirrut cleaned the wound on Baze’s shoulder and then his scalp, still murmuring.

“What are you saying?” Bodhi asked, halfway to sleep.

Chirrut paused and something like a smile almost touched his face. “I’m praying,” he said. “The Force will heal him, if I have faith.”

Bodhi yawned, jamming a fist against his mouth to try and stifle it, just as Baze stirred.

“Chirrut….” Baze’s voice was slurred, brittle with agony, and Chirrut closed his eyes, then bent forward to press their cheeks together.

“Took you long enough, old man,” he whispered, and Baze huffed a painful laugh.

“What—happened—”

“Grenade took out the ship,” Bodhi offered as Chirrut straightened and went back to work. “We ran.”

Baze blinked. “How—”

“Chirrut carried you.”

Baze twisted, flinching, to glare at Chirrut, who pressed him back to the mattress.

“Don’t move or you’ll start the bleeding again.”

“You _carried_ me.”

“Bodhi, go to sleep,” Chirrut said, something like joy in his voice. “My husband needs to yell at me for saving his life.”

Bodhi rolled over so his back was to them and pulled a pillow over his head to muffle the talking. He fell asleep to the sound of Chirrut’s laugh, like warm syrup, relief and love saturating it while Baze fussed at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory [come talk to me on Tumblr](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) post where I sometimes write prompts and am always available for flailing about Star Wars.


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